Page 35 of Their Witch Bride

I want to smack the idiot. “Why?”

Now, we’re whispering. Talking amongst ourselves while the others continue their tales about battling witches. We can’t have the others know what we’re planning. No one can know.

He shakes his head. “It’s just not. I think it’d be better to leave her alone, be neutral, and follow the plan. We don’t need to get her angry. We don’t need to become–”

“Enemies? News fucking flash, we are enemies.”

He quiets. “You were fine with using the servants for your own tent…”

“I deserve a tent. She deserves to be spanked.” Despite all my hatred for her, my body reacts to the thought of smacking that tight little ass.

There’s something wrong with me.

“So, I guess… we’re doing this. Bullying her. A group of grown men.”

For some reason, I feel guilty. Maybe because being mean to Rinan is like kicking a puppy. “She needs to learn the hard way,” I mutter.

Rinan nods in agreement, but there’s hesitancy in his eyes that I choose to ignore. He’s easy to sway especially when there’s a woman involved. The thing is, she’s no closer to being a pretty woman than I am, even if she looks the part.

Princess Tara wanders back into camp, her ever present smile beaming. Despite all my thoughts, I can’t help but notice her as a woman. As much as I hate it. The thing is, if she wasn’t an evil she-bitch wrapped in a cloak of deadly spells, she’d be just my type. Actually, she’s a type I hadn’t even realized I was into. Shifter women are tall and strong. She’s tiny. Petite. The top of her head barely comes to my shoulders, and my dick kind of likes the thought of what it’d be like to be with such a tiny woman.

I bet I could spin her on my dick like a fucking clock.

The instant the thought enters my mind, I push it away. Her hair is too dark. Her eyes are too big and too wide. Her smile makes her eyes light up in an irritating way. I have no desire to spin her on my dick or have her within ten feet of me. She’s here because I’ve been tethered to her like a leash to a dog, that’s all.

And she’s going to learn this dog can bite.

She yawns and looks around. Her gaze falls on Rinan, and she comes closer to us. “Where do I sleep?”

Instantly, her scent washes over me and my groin tightens. Lilies. She smells like fucking lilies. The flower known for lovers, because the scent is both sensual and sweet. I can’t believe this witch bitch smells like the afterlife for shifter warriors, like Odin’s Hall.

I’m hard. I don’t even know how or why. She’s staring at us, looking nervous, and I get the feeling that Rinan is actively refusing to be involved in this. I should be talking. I should be taunting her. Instead, my gaze is fixed on her chest. For such a small woman, she’s disproportionate in all the best places.

My cock is hard, ridiculously hard, and my wolf is awake inside of me, drinking in her scent like a desperate creature, and neither I nor my wolf is desperate. If she were any other woman, I’d bury myself balls deep inside her, relieve this pressure, and try never to think of her ever again. But she’s not any other woman, she’s a witch and our enemy.

This must be witch magic. Her mom must have taught her how to smell this damn good. I bet her fucking pussy tastes like the sweetest treat. I bet it’s magicked to lure us under her spell.

“Uh,” she clears her throat, “so, uh, where did you say I should sleep?”

Angrily pushing aside my desire, I can’t help the sardonic smile that forms on my lips. “Oh, are you looking for your tent, Princess?” I gesture mockingly towards the pile.

When her gaze falls on the pile of tent parts, she looks so damn confused that were she anyone else, I’d feel bad. But it’s her, so I don’t.

“Sweet dreams!” Astro shouts.

The men erupt into laughter, but I don’t. I’m too focused on her coming meltdown. So focused that if I were in a seat, I’d be on the edge of it.

But to my surprise, Princess Tara just stares for half a minute before she shrugs and turns to the tent. Everyone quiets as she approaches it. Circling the pile, she studies the pieces with narrowed eyes, seemingly trying to figure out how the pieces fit together.

“She’s going to try to put it together by herself?” I mutter in total disbelief.

Where is the magic? Where is the tantrum? Where is the moment she shows her ass to all of us and proves exactly why we should all hate her?

She stands before the pile now, hands on her hips. “Right then,” she mutters to herself, rolling up her sleeves with a determined squint in her eyes. And I want to look away, but I can’t, as she kneels down and picks up a tent pole. She holds it like it’s a foreign object, turning it over in her hand with her brow furrowed in concentration.

Come on. What the fuck are you doing? Put it down and show us what an asshole you are.

Instead, she tries to fit the pole into another piece, but it’s clearly the wrong slot. The pole wobbles precariously, and she sticks her tongue out slightly, laser focused. But when she tries to cram the two pieces together, they don’t fit. Because they don’t fit.

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